


Touch Starved

by Anonymous



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Five's body is physically in his late teens, Gunplay, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Knifeplay, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, The Handler is creepy, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Years later, Five is lying in the motel room. Exhausted. Too many jumps. Too many kills in one dayThe Handler appears. Five's head is burning with a raging, uncontrollable fever.She touches his forehead, hands blessedly cool. The Handler does things Grace didn't do.She does other things Grace wouldn't do, either.Five lets his eyes close as the Handler's fingers wanders down his tie, as it slips into his opened shirt.He's too tired.Too touch starved. If it came to this, if he gets it from this, Five would accept it.He was so, so tired.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Lila Pitts, Number Five | The Boy/The Handler (Umbrella Academy)
Kudos: 43
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Routine Call

Five's back hits against the wall inside the Handler's office as she chuckles, her fingers still lightly wrapped around Five's tie, tugging at it playfully.

It wasn't painful. Not yet. 

"If that's all, then I'll be _leaving_." Five bites out, irritated. It was a routine call, a call that Five gets far more often than the other Commission agents. The mission rarely ever came through a metal box. Not anymore. 

The Handler sees to it that missions for Five, her personal recruit, is given by her _personally_.

"Tsk, tsk." The Handler tuts, and Five is thrusted back to the times with Reginald, all those years ago. 

_Utter disappointment. Failure. Greatest regret._

She takes advantage of Five' momentarily freeze, clouded by unwanted memories, and slips her hand into Five's collared shirt, stealthily easing her fingers between the opened buttons. 

"Why _now_ , Number Five?" She coos, stroking suggestively up and down Five's arm. "After all," she drawls, shrugging. "We've already done everything there is to do under the sun -"

" _You've_ done everything." Five retorts, voice strained in irritation, all too aware of their situation. "I don't recall my ever agreeing to _any_ of it." 

"And yet, here we are." Handler says, in her annoyingly sing-song voice. She leans far too close into Five's personal space, as if claiming it as her own. Her breath, her strong vanilla perfume, assaults his senses. 

"And you're not exactly stopping me, are you, Number Five—?" 

Five _snatches_ her wandering wrist, the one attached to her hand that was now completely hidden inside his white collared shirt.

The one that was still, even as they speak, caressing mockingly as if they were lovers uncomfortably against his chest. Five stiffens, refuses to be baited into a reaction.

Five forces himself to meet her predatory gaze, her face just millilitres away from his. 

" _Stop_." 

The Handler chuckles, before she purses her blood red lips together. Something clicks in her then, and she changes track. 

She hums softly, and Five's traitorous brain conjures up a memory from his childhood. Calming his breaths, Five hates, hates _hates_ that it reminds him of Grace.

His chest hurts, but there's no injury that he knows of anywhere near the vicinity. 

"But Five, sweetie. You've never even felt a mother's touch before, am I right?"

Five tenses, stills. He was in dangerous territory. 

Clenching his fists so harshly that it hurts, Five grits his teeth. It wasn't an option. He cannot let the Handler see more than she already has. 

"Aren't you grasping at straws now?" Five bites out, but even he can hear the weakness in his voice. He keeps his eyes firmly on the Handler. Sweat trickled from his brows, but he refuses to let the Handler win this battle.

He's lost so many already.

The Handler just smiled, brings her free hand away to boop him on the nose. 

"Well, then. Let me show you," she coos, tilting Five's head away from her, exposing his neck. 

Slowly, she licks his neck. "Relax for me, darling. I promise you, it'll all be over quickly." 

Her hand wanders down to Five's shorts, and this time, Five doesn't stop her. 


	2. A Promise, Not A Challenge

"That - That's _enough_ ," Five grits out, knees involuntarily buckling. 

Every advance, every predatory glance, every _touch_ , and Five always ended up in the Handler's office. 

But the Handler _never_ stops, her perfectly manicured hands following Five lower, even as he drops to his knees, knuckles white as he clutches the desk. 

The Handler purrs deep in her throat as she crowds invasively into Five's personal space, against his neck, slipping her wandering hand inside his shorts as she wraps her fingers _around_ him—

Five jerks away, but he's never escaped her burning touch, ones that leaves phantom marks, can feel her blood red lips breathing hotly against his skin—

Someone knocks on the office door. 

The Handler removes her lips from Five's neck, but not before licking it suggestively one more time.

"Yes?"

"I have files for the case in Paris, where the Eiffel Tower is collapsing before it's dued. You requested AJ Carmichael to assign Agent 638? May I come in?"

Five growls into the wooden desk, forehead leaning against the polished wood as his hands grips it deathly tight. "Let her in and I'll murder her before she even has a chance to _blink_." 

The Handler tuts, amused.

Once again, Five attempts to pull away, move his neck away from the Handler's hungry blood red lips. The movement, though, tears the wound on his stomach, the freshly hand stitched wound stinging painfully.

_Shit_. 

...After applying emergency stitching to his knife wound during a mission, the Handler hadn't let him clean up first.

She _liked_ him covered in blood.

_"You look more dangerous," she'd always muses, eyes glinting hungrily._

The Handler leans further into his personal space, breasts pressing firmly, suggestively against Five's back. 

She kisses Five's neck, runs her teeth lightly against it as Five keeps his forehead against the desk, fully aware that the conversation is loud enough to hear from outside.

"Hm. Is that a challenge, Number Five?" 

"It's a _promise_ ," Five bites out, seizing her wrist attached to the hand that was starting to tug him inside his shorts. 

An uncertain shuffle from outside the door. 

"Er, should I - should I come back another time?" The stuttering voice floats inside.

The fear is now present in the tone. Evidently, they'd recognised Five's name, the top agent at the Temp Commission. 

Five's reputation as the deadliest agent remains a legacy. That, and rumours of his alleged attachment to the Handler—

The Handler smiles, before she withdraws her hand from Five's tensed body, intense gaze fixated at the door. 

"Very well, then." The Handler stands up, brushes down her ridden up skirt. She fixes her dress and smooths down her curls. 

The Handler winks at Five as she sashays up the door. 

"We're not done yet, Number Five." Her predatory gaze lingers, travels down Five's body. Five refuses to make a reaction, at her blatant suggestive tone. 

"I'll be _just_ a minute." 

* * *

Five wishes, _wishes_ she'd never found a loophole to get back his physically younger, teen body. 

_This body was more confusing, more physically and emotionally vulnerable._

_How old am I? Five once asked, gaze fixated on the body length mirror in front of them. The Handler swears to hell and back it's twenty-one._

_Five doesn't believe her._

_All the agents had uttered under their breaths that he was in his late teens._

Half an hour later, Five steps out of the office, ignoring the loaded glances shot his way from passing by personnel. 

Immediately, Five blinks elsewhere, anywhere. 

...The Temp Commission's bathroom is a good place as any to vomit out everything.

Of course, the phantom touches stays. 


	3. Meet My Dearest Daughter, Lila.

Five is perched on top of the Handler's office desk. His leg swings idly as he levels his gaze onto Hazel and Cha Cha and the rest of the top ten Temps Commission agents. 

The Handler stands beside him, perfect curls, signature blood red lips in a vintage black and white dress.

Five smirks manically, eyes glinting at the top Temps Commission Agent four through seven, the three IKEA Swedish brothers with stiff, white hair. 

One of them stares intently back, before his resolve shatters.

To Five's wry amusement, he swiftly averts his gaze. 

"So." The Handler says, clasping her perfectly manicured hands together—

Five ignores the sight of her nails.

_—The phantom nails Five still feels raking all over his skin, piercing hard enough to actually draw droplets of blood—_

"I've summoned you all, our most _valued_ agents of the Temps Commission and—" The Handler gasps, the corner of her lips suddenly curving into a smile. 

" _Beautiful_ shirt, Hazel." Her eyes gleams, delightedly. "Now. Is that new?" 

Everyone's gazes, except Five, rests on Hazel. 

"...Yeah." Hazel swallows, raising a hand to his mouth as he clears his throat. "Got it pressed and ironed in early 2054." 

The Handler smirks, predatory eyes suddenly latching onto Five's. Five, who's gaze is fixated on Cha Cha, who's interestingly enough, brave enough to stare him down. 

"2054? We had some _fun_ times there, didn't we, Number Five?"

Five flashes Cha Cha a cute, dimpled smile, and she _bristles_.

"Anyway, I'll just skip straight to the point. I'm sure all of you are very, _very_ busy. I, for one, have a routine call after this." 

Her gaze flickers Five's way again, not so discreetly winking suggestively at him. 

Five _ignores_ it. 

"But there's this _very_ important mission. I'm sending all of you to deal with it. And, of course, Number Five, you'll be there, and partnering with another agent." 

Five snaps his attention to the Handler. All the previous amusement in his gaze has vanished. 

_What?_

"I work _alone_." Five bites out, intense gaze fixated onto the Handler's.

The Handler just snakes her hand to rest on Five's inner thigh, slipping invasively inwards. The second she does that, Hazel shifts uncomfortably.

Cha Cha, on the other hand, doesn't even blink.

Five isn't even interested in the IKEA brothers' reactions. 

"Well, there's always a first for everything, aren't I right? So, you'll be assigned to a partner—"

" _No_." 

Everyone falls silent.

Five can practically _hear_ the other Temps Commission agents holds their breath. 

_Irrelevant_. Five just keeps his steady gaze fixated at the Handler's, his eyes glinting.

Her poker face never once slips as she silently mulls over Five's refusal at a direct order. 

"Hm. Then, we'll finish this discussion later, Number Five." The Handler says, airily. "As for the rest of you, well. That'll be all. Oh, and Hazel?" 

Hazel glances back, halting as he makes way for the rest of the agents to scurry out. 

"Be a dear and close the door behind you, will you?" The Handler said, flashing him a shark's grin.

Hazel nods.

The moment the door clicks shut, though, Five knows everything that comes after will be painful. 

Still, he _refuses_ to avert his eye contact as the Handler advances on him, even as she shoves him harshly back against the desk. 

Even as she moves in between his legs, predatory gaze filling his vision. Even as blood red nails rake against skin, travelling lower, _lower_ —

...The entire time, Five _refuses_ to utter even a single syllable. 

* * *

"That little shit thinks he can do _anything_ he wants." Cha Cha complains the moment she and Hazel arrives back to their motel.

"Did you see him? Sat on top of the Handler's desk like that?" 

Hazel groans, runs a hand through his face. _Ah, shit_. He doesn't get paid enough for the things he witnessed earlier on.

"I don't know. The shit is all weird. Did you see the Handler touching his leg? The kid is like what, sixteen?" 

"Eighteen, at the most." 

Hazel thinks about it. "You're right. I think I'll stick with seventeen." 

"And did you see how the little shit said 'no' to the Handler?" 

Hazel scoffs, chuckling dryly. "Yeah. I think we all noticed that. Hell, even _I_ was holding my breath."

"What the fuck was _that_ all about? You need to get _good_ with the Handler. Do everything she says to climb the rank. That's how we got here, and for what? The little shit says no, and he's _still_ number one?"

Hazel says nothing. _It's true, after all._

"They're a fucking power couple, is what they are. The Board's already afraid of Number Five's abilities and the Handler is into some shady business that even AJ doesn't even know about." 

"...Whatever." Hazel groans, eyes flickering shut as he gingerly lay back onto the dingy motel bed. "Just get me to retirement, and I can rest easy." 

Cha Cha rolls her eyes.

As Hazel dozes off, the last imagery he sees is the Handler's smile.

Predatory and _hungry,_ her eyes latched only on Five's. 

* * *

Hours later, in his bedroom at night, Five wakes up to the Handler straddling his hips. 

The first thing he notices, is that she isn't wearing any undergarments.

In the darkness, Five just makes out her outline, her curls, her pristine vintage black and white dress. 

Her skirt is ridden up, bunched around Five as she leans in forward, gently brushes a stray strand of hair mockingly away from Five's forehead. 

"Hello, Number Five." 

Irritation _floods_ through Five as the moment he realises his current predicament, and the Handler's impending motives.

This. _This_ is new.

_Every advance, every predatory glance, every_ touch _, and Five always ended up in the Handler's office._

They've never done it _anywhere else_. 

Five's gaze flickers up to see the Handler, her blood red lips curved in a mocking smile.

"I've been thinking about it, Number Five. How you said no. Pretty spunky of you to do that, in front of all the Commission agents." 

She leans further into Five's personal space, rolling her hips slowly and sensually. _Suggestively_. 

"Perhaps some people might even think you have a semblance of power in this relationship." 

Five clenches his fists, breath hitching before he regains his composure. 

"The outcome was predictable." Five grits out, refusing to react to her ministrations. "I work alone. _You_ of all people should recall why." 

The Handler chuckles, as she latches her blood red lips onto his neck. 

Five jerks away as the Handler sucks at the sensitive flesh, biting it harshly. She rolls her hips again, and Five fixates his gaze onto the small window to his right. 

_It's small, square, and reminiscent of a prison cell._ Five had never felt the comparison was more appropriate than now.

"Five, sweetheart." The Handler tuts, a cool, unwelcomed hand running up his shirt. Her fingers gently trails his chest, before its presence disappears. 

"Sometimes, it's a means to an end. You have to sacrifice for the greater good, darling." 

The Handler purrs as she slides her hand down, lifts her dress further up, to reveal a knife hidden in her thigh strap. 

_Shit_.

Five forces himself to relax, the last fucking time she played with knives, Five's wrists were unwittingly cut.

_—He'd almost bled out before the Handler finally allowed him stitch it up—_

Slowly, she brings the knife down, to daintily rest onto Five's chest.

"Number Five. I'm sending you on a mission with another, well. Let's just say, ' _special'_ agent."

Five scoffs, as the Handler rips his shirt slowly, the fabric tearing away at the freshly sharpened knife. 

The metal is cold against his skin. 

"Special? Let me venture a guess. Are you fucking them as well?" 

The Handler tuts, amused. 

Five feels cold air against his exposed skin. 

"Tsk, tsk, sweetheart. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous." She coos, and boops him gently on the nose. 

The knife presses alongside his chest as Five's eyes flickers to meet the Handler's. 

"I don't fucking _care—_ " 

The Handler kisses him, blood red lips smearing lipstick against his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw. 

Nausea _rises_ in his stomach. Five wants to throw up, her touches igniting an inferno on his flesh. 

_—The phantom touches of all the times she's touched him_ burns _his skin, etching itself into his memories—_

"You know, Number Five." She breathes, licking away the droplet of blood on his neck. My lipstick looks absolutely _divine_ on your skin. Almost as if..." 

The Handler rests her hungry, predatory gaze onto Five's chest. 

"...As if you're bleeding for me, sweetheart." 

The knife presses harder, more threateningly against Five's chest and he knows the Handler wants to break skin. 

That she's _intending_ to break skin. 

This isn't _new._

What's _new_ , is that the Handler is in his bed, in his room, practically within his safe haven from her predatory advances, unwanted touches and away from the prying eyes of the Temp Commission agents. 

The Handler reaches down, underneath her ridden up skirt. It hovers between her legs as she sensually draws open Five's zip. 

_Live through it._

Blood leaks from Five's freshly opened wound as the Handler lifts herself up, lightly dragging the blade against Five's chest as she simultaneously sinks down, slowly enveloping Five into her tight heat. 

The Handler's breath is hot in his ears, vanilla perfume assaulting his senses. 

"Well, Number Five." She licks Five's neck, lips curving up into a smile as she rolls her hips again. Five clenches his fists, screws his eyes shut. "This mission is be all, end all. So..."

The Handler reaches up, tilts Five's jaw, forces Five to meet her predatory gaze.

The scent of blood is _drowning_ out the sickly vanilla perfume. 

Her grip _around_ him tightens, enough to hurt. Five grits his teeth, as she breathes against his lips. 

"...I'd like you to meet my dearest _daughter_ , Lila."


	4. Entirely Average And Below Intelligence Levels

The Handler keeps idly reading the files of the Temps Commission's successful consecutive missions as Five irritatedly paces back and forth in her office. 

Dawn is just starting to break. The sun rays flow in unfiltered past the glass windows, the curtains drawn wide open. 

"She's twenty-four, by the way." The Handler says, casually peering at a case file. "In case you were wondering. Just a few years older than your, might I say, _delectable_ body." 

Five scoffs. "Age is irrelevant. What I want to know is that she _won't_ _get in my way."_

The Handler coos, tapping her files against the desk. There's a mocking smile on her expression. "Dare I say it, the great Number Five cares about my daughter?" 

Five exhales. "I _care_ about the mission."

The Handler tsks, and Five hates that. Hates how it stubbornly conjures up unbidden memories of Reginald and his disapproval of Five's very existence.

_Utter disappointment. Failure. Greatest regret._

Five grits his jaw. "If that's all to the routine call, then I'll be _leaving_." 

"Aw, Number Five. Of course that isn't all. Come here." 

Five refuses to move even an inch. 

The Handler exhales, her shoulders deflating in mock disappointment. "Must you _always_ make it difficult? Aren't you bored? Hm. How about we _spice_ things up a little?" 

The Handler stands up, brushing down her vintage dress. She trails her hands over her curves, readjusting her skirt, her gaze lingering on Five's body. 

She winks at Five. 

"A little birdie tells me the staff break room is free this time of day." 

Five sets his jaw, schooling his expression. "I have somewhere to be in ten minutes." 

The Handler clicks her teeth as she moves forward, booping him on the nose. 

"You, darling, can be free in _seven_." 

* * *

Lila walks towards her destination, humming goodnaturedly to herself. There's a slight skip to her step, _of course there i_ s, her mother's finally approved her request, or dignified begging, to join the Temps' biggest mission to date. 

To protect Adolf Hitler.

_The shithead has a lot of enemies,_ Lila's heard. Which means it's an _excellent_ opportunity to showcase her abilities and prove to her mum that she's more than ready. 

"Hey, Dot. Sup, Herb." She tilts her head in acknowledgement at the two most loyal, hardworking members of the Temps Commission's paper based workers.

"Top of the morning to you both. Any chance you've seen mum?" 

Dot greets her with a naive smile and a little excited wave, and Lila's mind _floods_ with how easy it'd be to murder her in cold blood. 

_—Grab the coffee mug Herb is clutching, smash her brows, momentarily stunning her. Deliver the final blow by piercing her neck with the same pen Dot's holding, the blood squirting out messily—_

Lila flashes a smile back instead. It doesn't quite reach her dark kohl eyes. 

"Er, just across the hallway. The Handler's not in her office at the moment. She's actually, uh. She's—" 

Dot's hesitantly pointing at a door leading to the staffs' break room. 

_Ah_. 

"Right. She's fucking the Temp Commission's best agent, isn't she?" 

Herb looks green. 

"Well. He's only a child—" 

"Nineteen." Dot supplies, a tinge of blush on her face. She adjusts her glasses, pretends to busy herself with the pen that Lila imagines is coated with her dark crimson blood, streaming down her neck. 

_Ah. Snap out of it, Lila. Imagine that to Hitler's enemies. Yeah. That'll be some fun shit._

"No, no." Herb cuts in, swallowing distraughtly. "The child, he barely looks a day over seventeen—" 

"Really? Heard he was twenty-one." Lila says, smacking her lips, before rubbing her hands resolutely together. "Well, let's see if I can interrupt the two lovebirds, shall we?" 

Lila hops towards the door. Once she reaches it, she raps against it once, twice, _thrice_ with her knuckles. 

"Hey, mum—?" 

A loud _gunshot_ from within, and a glass shattering into a million pieces. 

Lila's blood grows _cold_. 

_—She's fucking the Temp Commission's best agent, isn't she?—_

_—Darling, we have to be careful with this one. The Handler says, breathing out a puff of cigar smoke. Sometimes you think he's tamed. Other times, he proves you wrong. Either way, it's_ deliciously _fun—_

Without hesitation, Lila _flings_ the door wide open. 

"Mum—?!" 

Her world _instantaneously_ tilts upside down.

Lila immediately flips backward into a reflexive handstand, her senses alarmingly attempting to reorient itself—

A harsh, brutal kick delivered efficiently straight to her kneecaps, and _shit_ , Lila careens forward, legs involuntarily buckling—

She crashes harshly onto her back, her army knife knocked violently from her hand as she inhales _once_ , sharply.

A heavy weight presses up against her chest, a cool feel of a sharp blade against her throat. 

Her vision clears, and Number Five is straddling her, and her mother is looking down on her in her quickly returning vision.

_Shit_.

Five _scoffs_. 

"She's entirely _average_." 

Anger, annoyance _fills_ Lila's entire being. Never had she felt more like a petulant child. 

"You _bloody little gremlin._ That's fighting _dirty_ , you arsehole—"

"And you assume your enemies will fight clean?" Five scoffs, leveling his intensely green eyes at her. "Entirely average _and_ below intelligence levels. I'm not entirely sure why, but I'd assume she'd be something more." 

"I never said she was up to par with you, Number Five." The Handler hums, gaze lingering hungrily at Five and his loose tie, a few buttons undone. "I just merely said she was special." 

_Okay, shit._ Lila thinks. _That sorta_ hurts _._ _Stings, actually_.

Strangely though, Five watches her carefully as the Handler utters those words, and Lila refuses to give away any speck of emotion. 

Instead, Lila shoots a shit eating grin at Five. 

Five _smirks_. 

"Nice to finally meet your boyfriend, mum." 

"It's not mutual in the slightest." Five says, casually dropping her army knife back into her hands. 

...The same one that was knocked out of her hands just seconds ago. 

_—A flash of Lila imagining she can kill Dot with her own pen—_

_Shit_. 

"I'll beat you someday. Heck, you might even need my help in the mission." Lila clicks her teeth, maintaining her pearly grin. 

Way too many teeth. 

"Oh, I highly doubt it." Five retorts, before he clenches his fists, abruptly teleporting away. 

The weight completely vanishes off her chest. 

"Hey, mum." Lila shuffles up, parting down her dusty clothes. When the hell had the break room floor last been clean? _Disgusting shit._

"Yes, darling?" The Handler answers, still fixating hungrily at the empty space where Number Five had been seconds ago. 

"I hate your new boyfriend." 

The Handler just chuckles, eyes gleaming. "You'll warm up to him, honey. You just have to tame him." 

Lila _gags_. 

"Yeah, I highly doubt it. Also, your cleavage is showing." 

The corner of the Handler's lips curve up into a smile.

* * *

...That evening, Lila doesn't distractedly wonder why Five had been gazing at her intently after the Handler had belittled her skills.

_Yep. Definitely not gonna read into that,_ Lila thinks, flipping her precious army knife and catching it midair.

_—A flash of a heavy weight presses up against her chest, a cool feel of a sharp blade against her throat—_

A tiny part of her is also _definitely_ not gonna linger on the weight and sight of Five on top of her. 

Lila grins to herself, slicing her army knife into thin air, imagines it against flesh before swiftly pocketing it. 

Yeah. Those images are definitely _not_ flashing through her, wild untamed mind. 

Not. At. _All_.


End file.
